


Take the world by storm

by AgingPhangirl (Madophelia)



Series: Fic Every Day in June 2017 [4]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Introspection, M/M, Smut, The London Apartment, unrealistic reactions to weather
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 00:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11093406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madophelia/pseuds/AgingPhangirl
Summary: They went for a walk to decide what to do about the flat. To think about how it’s felt smaller recently, not enough, like they’ve grown out of it. The rain cuts their walk short, but they come back from it with a decision… and maybe something more.





	Take the world by storm

**Author's Note:**

> June 4 of my Fic Every Day in June 2017 project.
> 
> I did a ['getting caught in the rain' prompt for Johnlock](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4405157) ages ago and thought I'd do it for our boys too.
> 
> Send me prompts on [Tumblr](http://agingphangirl.tumblr.com) & [Twitter](http://twitter.com/agingfangirl)

It breaks early, a slight ripple of wind the only warning before darkened spots of pavement dot at their feet. They’d been expecting it, had vocalised the probability based on the awaiting grey of the clouds but risked their excursion anyway. 

It isn’t often they get the time, or better yet, the inclination to venture into the greenery of London, which is present only in silos, gated and separate from the city down even to the obscured visibility on the horizon. They’re stood on a winding path up a grassy bank, staring out at it. The tips of tall buildings stretch above the treeline, blinking in and out of sight with the sway of the uppermost branches. 

They haven’t said anything in a while but their thoughts are landing on the same place. It had been the intention of this trip, to get out, gather space. Not alone though, they’ve never even entertained the idea. The need space from the flat, from the incessant noise and same four walls, never from each other. 

This separation has never been needed before, but the culmination of successes has invaded, stripped their safe space and made it work, made it jaded and repetitive, small and enclosed. So that when the rain starts, it’s soothing at first, helping to clear out some of the sticky, rankling thoughts in their heads. It unties the knot at Dan’s brow and makes Phil’s eyes blink as though focussing back in for the first time. 

It feels normal for their eyes to meet, but less so for them to find what they do. Twin grins mirror back on each other and Dan finds himself reaching out before he has truly evaluated the consequences of it. 

The rain has picked up now, the entire path awash with bouncing droplets and Phil watches one track a path down Dan’s forehead and settle in the corner of his eye. Dan squeezes his eyes shut to disperse it and Phil is sure that will be the end of it. He is therefore pleasantly surprised when brown eyes blink back at him a second later and fingers curl insistently through his. 

Phil indicates with a thumb for them to leave and they turn in the direction of home. Their pace is too slow, they should be speeding up in avoidance of the weather. Instead, they pull hoods up over their ears, peering around the ineffectual fabric and letting the rain patter down over their joined hands. 

It is only the emergence of other rushing people that makes them part. It’s probable that with their quickened feet and lowered heads they wouldn’t have been spotted, but they silently agree not to risk it. Not while it is all still so unspoken and fragile. 

Finally making it to the underground and out of the rain seems to break the spell. It is busy with like-minded crowds venturing out of the rain, crammed humid and sticky into the cramped space. 

The end up pressed together, hands gripping the same supporting pole to prevent them from falling over. They lean into each other for the same reason, ever so slightly. Their cheeks are flushed pink and their hair is damp and mussed. There is a thick, warm smell in the air of too many wet bodies and clothing so close together.

Dan stares at the sheen of rain drops glinting under the artificial light, spattered across the faux fur of Phil’s hood and it is this detail that be knows he cannot live without, no more so than any other detail of Phil. 

“Let’s just move,” he says simply. 

They’ve been toying with the idea for a while, but ruminating too much. It feels like more of a step, the admission that this is no longer an extension of convenience. It feels like commitment to something they have not yet named. 

“Okay,” Phil agrees, and it is settled. 

Again they lapse into silence, but it is the weight of something heavy forcing their mouths closed. For once, Dan is thankful for the ease they find in comfortable silence. He doesn’t think he can talk while Phil’s hand has slipped down the pole between them, his smallest finger rubbing slowly, questioningly over Dan’s thumb. 

When he dares look, he finds Phil staring at him. No longer unfocused as he had been in the park, but intense and unwavering in his gaze in a way that makes Dan shiver more so than the rivulets of water currently sliding down his neck. 

Rather than hesitate and let his mind search for, and find, reasons for him not to, Dan lets his dan readjust so that his fingers cover Phil’s. It could be an accident, if they want. Something unacknowledged. But Phil drags his thumb over Dan’s knuckles in a deliberate way and Dan knows they aren’t pretending anymore. 

The carriage stopping to allow yet more people to fight for space gives him ample excuse to press up close to Phil. Splaying wide fingers against his rib cage, pressing at the damp material of his shirt so that he can feel when Phil’s breath hitches. His fingers flex to scratch momentarily, drawing Phil’s attention to watch as Dan licks his bottom lip nervously. 

Phil ducks his head under the pretense of shifting further to allow people to scoot around him. He positions his head in the gap between Dan’s shoulder and jaw, ghosting hot breath over his pulse point. Dan gasps, almost soundlessly save for the rush of breath as Phil’s wet fringe swings low to drag against his cheek, water dripping to run a winding path on the crook of his neck, pooling in his clavicle. 

He tilts his head slightly, feeling an incessant and sudden need for Phil to press his lips to his throat. But it doesn’t come. Most likely because it would be foolish in public, but also because the dark glint in Phil’s eye and the way he crooks his eyebrow tells Dan that Phil is teasing him. 

It feels as though they are dangling over a precipice. The thrum of anticipation vivid and obvious in them both, but neither sure how to start, how to leap into that abyss they have been circling for so many years. 

The moment is painted in vibrant multicolour of so much built up tension spread out over eight years. Dan shuffles his feet, palm still pressed to Phil’s waist, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing and the heat of his body pulsing through him. Phil’s mouth is parted, pink lips wet and willing and torturously far away. 

Subtlety isn’t Dan’s style. He’s always been more clumsy, bumbling into unsatisfying encounters on the false charm of his loud, brash humour. It’s never been like this, silent staccato touches compiling into the swirling pressure in his abdomen, almost painful in the promise of it all. 

Phil lets subtlety become his crutch more often that not. Lets the easy, natural skill of platonic affection show and hides any burn of romance. He lets it peak and then die on his tongue. It has never felt right, he’s found, so it never seemed important enough to press the issue. Any entanglements to this point have been born on someone else’s insistence, rather than his own, and he has followed blindly, content to settle for merely satisfactory. 

It is this, if nothing else, that allowed the promise of Dan to slip through his fingers like so much useless sand all those years ago. 

Youth had never been on either of their sides. Dan too bumbling, too brash, too rejecting of the implied and unsure in favor of the overt. Phil too hesitant, less obvious in his intentions than he would liked to have been, so that in the end it had felt like too much work compared to the easy comfort of friendship. They had settled for it only because they had no idea how to ask for more. 

Dan doesn’t know if it’s the rain, or the promise of forever, but he’s abandoned the awkward fumbling now, swapped it for the way he slides his hand around to the small of Phil’s back and gathers him close. Phil lets eight years of build up be enough subtlety for once and reaches out to push Dan’s sopping curls from his forehead. 

“Dan…” 

But Dan is pulling away, his fingers dropping from Phil’s, arm sliding away so that Phil is left, solitary and bereft, hanging on to the yellow support of the train carriage. 

“This is our stop,” Dan laughs. Beneath the humour is more, it’s yes and just not here.

Dan doesn’t know how they end up back at the flat, the memory is left somewhere on the pavement outside. But they make it, rain-soaked once again, a fresh batch of moisture making Dan’s clothes cling to him. Phil’s fringe is plastered to his forehead so that it flashes water on to Dan’s face as he presses him to the door of the flat as soon as it is shut. 

He slides wet fingers into wet hair and tips Phil’s mouth to his. There is that damp, humid scent hanging in the air, too many layers between them so that the initial contact isn’t as satisfying as it could be. Dan wants more, and Phil is pushing against him in a way that suggests he does too. 

So Dan makes himself step back, only for the sake of scrabbling at the zip on Phil’s coat, managing it only barely with trembling fingers, then pushing it insistently from his shoulders. 

Phil is doing something similar, mouth twisted first in concentration at navigating Dan’s clothes and then into a laugh as his own coat gets caught on his bent elbows. 

“Fuck’s sake,” he hears Dan mutter, and he lets his laugh come louder. 

“Guess we’re out of practise,” he says. 

“You’d think after eight years of build up this would go smoother.”

Phil’s face goes soft, shifting to remove his coat and letting it fall abandoned to the floor. 

“I think it’s fairly perfect actually.” 

Phil reaches for him again, pressing him close and sliding their lips together. It’s slow, deep, languid. The first real acknowledgement not drowned in lust alone.  
It is easier then. Not the removal, but the sentiment. Tshirts still cling to their faces as they are pulled over their heads, and Dan still trips in his jeans when they get caught around his ankles. But between slip ups are Phil’s lips and hands pressing incessantly as whichever part of Dan is closest. 

They let the bells of their laughter echo through the flat they have agreed to leave, and speak words of encouragement into each other’s mouths as they eventually make their way into Phil’s bedsheets. 

For once the noise coming through the window doesn’t bother them, and the rain lashing against the glass means very little when Phil finally crawls over Dan, smiling down at him. His curls are fanned out on Phil’s pillow, mouth lifting into a faint smile, eyes wide and expectant. 

Phil pauses only to catch his breath, take stock, remind himself the moment is real. Dan waits, tries to ignore the urge to rush this, to have it all at once in a mad frenzy, he’d regret not savouring it. He lets fear slip away, the feat that the pauses might mean Phil changing his mind, that the bubble of this moment might pop and dissipate like the drying moisture on his skin. 

But Phil presses against him finally, naked and warm, his hair is rucked up and eyes wide. 

“I’m kind of nervous,” he confesses into Dan’s shoulder. 

“Me too,” Dan returns, gliding a hand down Phil’s spine. “But it’s only me.”

Phil nods and Dan feels his breath once again on his neck. 

“Yes.” 

Finally, finally, Phil’s mouth is pressed to his neck, tongue poking out to swipe over the muscle, teeth glancing across his skin. Dan lets out a breathy moan and feels his hips rock upwards of their own accord. 

“I knew it,” Phil grins. 

Dan can barely respond to Phil’s teasing before Phil’s fingers are on his lower stomach, so nimble and close to where he wants them that his snarky retort dies in this throat. 

“You look good like this,” Phil whispers, dipping fingers into the soft hair above his cock, dragging through it in a way that makes Dan keen. 

Dan thinks he’s being ridiculous because the way Phil’s eyes glint into the grey, overcast light, reflecting the colours of his sheets so that they are impossibly blue, might be the most beautiful thing Dan has ever seen. Instead of articulating this, he curls his hand around the nape of Phil’s neck and eases him down into a kiss, bending his leg at the knee and hooking his ankle over Phil’s thigh. 

Phil’s hand slips lower and takes him in hand, the warm insistence of his fingers curving around him tight and delicious. 

“Ah,” Dan pants into his mouth, bucking his hips into Phil’s awaiting palm. “Christ, Phil. More.” 

“So needy,” Phil chuckles, flicking his thumb across the head of Dan’s cock and earning another whine. 

“You would be too if you’d been waiting for eight years.” 

“I have,” Phil says, smearing his mouth over Dan’s collarbone and humming slightly. 

“Fuck.” 

Phil feels a steady stream of pre-cum gather at Dan’s tip and moves his palm to feel the slick slide of it, coating his fingers. 

“Wanna…”

“Yes.” 

“Have you ever?” 

“Yes.” Dan nods, eagerly. 

“I meant with…” 

“Oh,” Dan gasps and Phil twists his wrist. “No… no. Not, not that. I meant…” 

“Okay. Shhh...I’ve got you.” 

This is how it works, half mumbled sentences and a mental connection. The familiarity that shrouds them daily transferring to this space, this situation, with relative ease. Dan has never done this with a man, and Phil has the experience but is still sufficiently tender and cautious enough to not want to push it that far this first time. 

Instead he moves his hand, presses kisses the full length of Dan’s chest and stomach until he is eye level with Dan’s cock. Flushed red and oozing fluid, Phil’s tongue peeks out of his mouth to lap daintily at it. 

“Shit, yes, oh my god Phil, fuck.” 

Phil grins, the expectation that Dan would be loud is nothing on this babbling incoherent mess. The profanity is par for the course but the sheer inarticulate sentences pouring from him are making Phil feel slightly delirious with power. He puckers his lips just slightly and suckles on the head of Dan’s cock just to hear him moan again. 

He’s teasing, he knows. Barely offering enough suction to really get him going but he’s relishing in the punctuated sound of Dan’s breathing and is rocking himself into the firm press of his mattress, just to feel some relief. He’s managing to keep it together because he wants to watch Dan fall apart and needs so desperately to make this first time good, to do what he should have done all those years ago before they both had to experience so many substandard encounters that would never match up. 

“Please,” Dan begs, his voice cracking half way through the word in a way that makes Phil take pity on him. 

He lets his mouth go rounded and lips stretch to accommodate Dan’s length. It’s been a while since he’s done this but he’s confident he remembers how, hollowing his cheeks and sinking fluidly downwards. He can't go to the hilt, of course, a practise reserved for porn and the deviant minds of the inexperienced. Still, his hand moves to cover what his mouth can’t and he creates a tight pocket of warm and wet and lets Dan rock into his mouth. 

He finds the rhythm easily, mostly lets Dan set the pace with a guiding hand on his hip to stop him moving too far. He curls and flicks his tongue haphazardly, offering no sense of what will happen next and the random nature of it seems to drive Dan mad. Phil watches as he twists a fist into the sheets, bringing the other up to wind into his hair. 

“I’m close--” Dan says statically after a while, his legs shaking around Phil’s ears, thighs rippling with tension. Phil lets his fingers trip over the soft skin and sucks harder. 

He doesn’t move away, which he assumes is the intention of Dan’s warning. Instead, he breathes in hard through his nose and urges Dan to the edge, flicking his tongue and moving his mouth over the sensitive head, applying pressure to the underside where he has found Dan is most sensitive. 

He can see Dan’s hand fanned out on the bed, flopping madly as if searching for something and he reaches up to twine their fingers together, Dan’s slotting between his neatly. He squeezes lightly, feeling Dan’s grip tighten in response and his dick pulse on Phil’s tongue.

Dan comes with a loud sound that escapes his mouth in a burst that surprises them both. It’s wild, sounding around the room and drowning out even the rumble of thunder that has started in the sky outside. It isn’t louder, but it’s closer, tangible, and Phil can almost feel the wonderful press of it in his ears. 

They come down slowly, Phil easing away, lapping at him to coax him through the final twitches of it and Dan is breathing heavily, eyes half lidded yet staring at Phil in wonderment. 

“I’m…” 

Phil nods wordlessly and scoots up the bed to flop down beside him. 

His own cock is hard and insistent so he flattens his hand across it, pressing firmly to try and release some pressure, but it’s not enough. He closes his eyes and wills it to stop, just for a moment, until he can catch his breath and figure out what his next step should be. Because it’s overwhelming, to have wrung out Dan so much, to have made him quiet and contemplative at his side. Phil is suddenly unsure, now that the tension is broken, at least for Dan, whether this moment can stretch out much longer. He almost doesn’t want to lose himself in his own pleasure knowing that it might only bring about the end of this. 

He needn't have worried. After only a few moments of reprieve Dan is moving, bowing his body down to Phil’s hip, reaching out a tentative hands to lift Phil’s fingers away from his hard and aching length. 

“I want to,” is all he says as Phil gazes at him, awestruck and questioning. 

What Dan lacks in finesse he makes up for in enthusiasm. It’s sloppy and wet and uncoordinated in a way that is both endearing and unspeakably erotic. This is Dan, inexperienced and unsure but doing it anyway because he wants to please Phil, because he is enjoying drawing sounds from Phil’s lips. 

Phil does not disappoint. Revelling in Dan’s haphazard mouth moving disjointedly over his cock. He’s so far gone that despite the lack of skill, Dan has him bucking and writhing in minutes. But Dan, new at this as he is, doesn't have the foresight to leave that reproaching hand on Phil’s hip so that when Phil thrusts upward he catches the back of Dan’s throat causing him to let out a soft choking sound and watering his eyes in a way that makes him look used, claimed and thoroughly ruined. 

He pulls back instantly but it’s too late for Phil who, at the sound and sight of it, shamefully comes violently so that it shoots and catches Dan’s chin, rolling slick and heavily across his lip. To his credit, Dan recovers from his slight discomfort quickly and his pointed pink tongue darts out to lap at it, licking his skin clean before moving forward to do the same for the remnants dribbling down Phil’s shaft. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Phil says breathily. 

“Don’t be,” Dan grins, moving to lay back down beside him, “That was… wow.” 

“I didn’t mean to… I was just quite worked up and you sounded... fuck.” 

The fact that Dan made Phil curse twice in quick succession makes him unspeakably proud. 

“I don’t mind choking a little on your cock if it makes you sound like that to be honest,” he says unabashedly. 

The overt sexual nature of the comment makes Phil blush, but his mind goes to dark and torrid places before returning to look at Dan’s face, soft and familiar. 

“You are ridiculous,” Phil laughs, “is there any moment you can’t ruin with your bad jokes?” 

“There was a moment?” 

“The worst.” Phil insists, pushing at him slightly so that he throws his arms out to prevent falling off the bed. 

“Fine, fine. There was a moment. Quit pushing me.” 

“Well, there could have been one,” Phil huffs, “I mean… it could have been nice.” 

“Alright Phil, you want a moment? We can have a moment.” Dan turns to look at him. His hair is ruffled and Phil wants to run his hands through it. 

“It’s ruined now.”

Dan snakes an arm over his bare chest, his finger light, tickling, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He shuffles in close, drawing circles on Phil’s flesh and watching him flush. It’s new, scary possibly, for them both. But Phil is right, this could be a moment, a shift, a turning point. It all hinges on this, doesn’t it? That’s basically what they’ve agreed. 

“We’re moving.” Phil murmurs to Dan’s fingers, reaching out his own arm to wrap around his shoulders. 

“Yes.” He fingers don’t still, but he does settle into Phil’s gentle grip. 

“I’m glad. It will be good… to have something… new.” 

“Hmm.” 

“Not that I don’t love this apartment,” Phil says, hoping Dan knows what he means. “But I think it’s time for a change.” 

“We’re really doing it then?” Dan sounds unsure, his voice shaky, not raising his eyes, just watching his fingers go round and round on Phil’s abdomen. Phil is fairly sure they aren’t really talking about moving. 

“If you want to,” Phil says, reaching down to encourage Dan to lift his head with a tender finger under his chin. 

“I thought… it would be too much to move with you again,” Dan confesses, his voice hushed as though sharing a big secret. “Because it’s not just an accident then, is it? It’s not just… a convenience.” 

“No.” 

“It’s something else.” 

“Yes.” 

“Then yes,” He says, leaning up close to Phil again. “I want to move.”

Phil nods, sealing the deal with a sweet, lingering kiss. “Let’s move.”


End file.
